


"Call me selfish but I don't want anyone else to touch you."

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request: How about: “Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” for Jaskier x reader?
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Kudos: 17





	"Call me selfish but I don't want anyone else to touch you."

You stalk down the hallway, footsteps echoing loudly as you march. Jaskier follows a few paces behind with his broken lute in hand. When the door to the room you are all sharing bursts open Geralt jumps up reaching for his sword, ready for an attack but not at all ready for the sheer rage your face displays.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, trying to stay clear of you as you make a beeline for the settee,

already pulling off the jewels you had borrowed from Yennefer and pelting them into a drawer.

“The good news is the evil apothecary has been dispatched. You will find him unconscious in his chambers,” Jaskier says, his tone eerily calm.

“What’s the bad news?” Geralt asks.

“I’m out another lute,” Jaskier says with a sigh as he holds up the instrument that’s barely dangling together. You slam the drawer shut and Geralt glances between you and Jaskier for a beat.

“Fix this,” he mutters to Jaskier as he walks past him, eager to finish his mission and put plenty of space between whatever was going on between the two of you.

Jaskier closes the door and puts the ruined lute on the ground before turning to you. Your back is to him and you’re trying to free your hair from the elaborate updo it had been coiffed into. He comes over to help when he sees you start to eye the sword, fearful you’ll hack off your hair or a limb in your anger. As soon as he pulls out the comb you wheel on him.

“What the fuck was that?” you demand.

“What the fuck was what?” Jaskier returns.

“You know exactly what, what the fuck was with you interrupting my interrogation,” you continue, arms crossing over your chest defensively.

“Oh is that what we’re calling it? An interrogation?” Jaskier asks sarcastically.

“This was always the plan, Julian,” you say, slipping in his birth name in anger.

“No, that was not the plan. The plan was that you would lure him back into his chambers, slip the sleeping draught into some wine and get him to drink it. The plan was never for him to put his hands on you and try to take liberties,” Jaskier retorts.

“I had it under control! I didn’t even know you’d followed us back to the chamber, you could have been killed if you’d been found,” you cry, some of the underlying causes for your anger sneaking out. You’d been terrified when you saw him standing behind the draperies as you tried to flirtatiously fend off the disgusting old man’s advances. It was one thing for a woman no one in the courts knew to be taken back to his room, it was another for the famous bard to be found hiding in it.

“He had his hands on you,” Jaskier repeats. You throw your arms up in frustrated surrender and turn back around, trying to work through the laces of the dress but failing in your anger. You don’t have the energy to bat Jaskier’s hands away when you feel him take the laces from your hands and begin to gently loosen them. You both breathe for a moment, distance from the chaos of the scene you’d fled helping to lower the strong emotions running through both of you.

“I was going to get him to drink the wine, Jaskier. I don’t understand. If you had just waited it would have been fine. But you just sprung out of nowhere and now your lute is broken and Geralt will have to-“

“Geralt will handle what he needs to handle. I didn’t intervene because I didn’t trust you, Y/N. You’re the most competent person I know. It might have been a bit… rash,” he concedes.

You snort derisively but allow him to continue explaining himself, the laces growing longer in his hand and the dress growing looser with each weave.

“ **Call me selfish, but I** **don’t want anyone else to touch you** ,” he says. He slips the dress off your shoulders and it slides to the floor in a heap of violet silk. You’re wearing a slip, but your form is clear and visible through the thin fabric. His hands gently trace down your spine leaving a tingling sensation in his wake and he wraps you in his arms, hands crossing over your waist. You relax in his embrace, never able to stay angry at him for long though you will be having words about boundaries in the job going forward. For now, you let him hold you, let him kiss your temple tenderly and then lower to your cheek, testing the waters before he tilts your face up to meet his.

“Can you blame me for wanting to protect what’s mine?” he asks. The bastard knows he’s got you right where he wants you and you don’t bother to pretend otherwise. You answer him with a kiss and use the rest of the night ridding yourselves of your pent-up adrenaline and reminding him just how competent you are.


End file.
